


Those Before Us

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: Achilles hadn't known which one was the real one, so he went with the last. That was what he told the boy he named after his son.Or; Liam survived his fall with the help of the Mohawk and Connor's father isn't who he was told.





	Those Before Us

There was a knock at the front door. 

He looked up from the ledger, frowning. His townspeople didn't knock - they knew they were welcome in his home at any time. (How often had he come downstairs to see Prudence had left a pie or similar breakfast on his kitchen table?)

He stood, tomahawk in his grip, but not in a threatening hold. He opened the door to find an Irish man of moderate build but stern jaw standing on his porch. He was an older man, grizzled by years with shaven hair and deep set, off-colour eyes. Upon closer inspection, one was green while the other was silver. 

"Hello?"

The man shuffled in a way that said the action was foreign to him. "Is Achilles Davenport home?"

"Achilles died two years ago."

The man deflated. "Did he leave you this property or did you purchase it?"

"He left it to me. He had no one else." He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Achilles was a good friend of mine and I was hoping to learn about how he passed."

"May I have your name?"

"Oh, of course. Where are my manners?" The man extended a hand. "Liam O'Brien."

He took it. "Connor. Follow me."

He led Liam into the living room, sitting him down, then fetching some tea, as Achilles had insisted with every visitor. He sat down to Liam's left. 

"What did you wish to know?"

"Is Connor your given name?"

"I am of the _Kanienkehá:ka_. My given name is difficult for white people to say. Achilles called me Connor and I remained so in honour to him."

"I . . . see. The old bastard must have liked you."

"I am not certain. He liked me well enough in the later years, but his affection was hard won."

"That just how he is- was. How he was." Liam ran a hand over his head, muttering to himself. "So hard to think of the old ass as dead."

Connor nodded. "Indeed. This house is more than expansive enough for a single man."

Liam cleared his throat. "Where did you come from? Valley Forge?"

"Yes. Before it was burned down."

"Jesus Lord Almighty." Liam looked like he wanted to cry. 

"It took my mother's life."

"I'm so sorry, mate."

Connor shrugged, not dismissive, but accepting. "It was a long time ago."

"I got into a skirmish some years ago that broke my back. Achilles thought the tribe could help me. I spent six or seven years there. Them was some of the best years of my life. The woman the elder put in charge of my care was one of the hardest women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"You liked her?"

"More than like, son." Liam's smile was soft with fondness. "I'd have stayed there with her till the day death came if I didn't get the news. I had to go save a man in France, but I was too slow. I spent the rest of that time looking for his killer. I've only just accomplished my task, which is why I came back."

"What was her name? It is likely I know her, or know of her."

"Kaniehtí:io."

Connor fell silent. 

"It's possible you're from another-"

"She was my mother."

Liam paled. "Your-"

"You accent is also terrible."

He sputtered, shocked. "Well, give me a break. I am Irish."

"I can tell that too."

Liam sat back, expression falling back to serious. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five summers, if I counted correctly."

"Jesus." Liam ran his hand over his head again, shaved bald but still with the ability to grow hair. "By the Lord Christ and Lady Maria."

"What kind of relationship did you have with my mother?"

"I loved her." He replied bluntly. "I loved her."

"The clanmother never mentioned you to me." Connor looked down at his hands. "She never mentioned Haytham, either."

"Haytham? Kenway?"

Connor nodded. "The clanmother, when it was revealed my mother perished in the fire, gave me the gauntlet he left her. Achilles told me I was Haytham's son."

Liam's mouth hung open in shock. 

"Haytham believed i

"She told me about that plan, right before I left."

"Plan?"

"She wanted to use him, understand what the British were doing, if it was a better idea to ally with the Americans. She slept with him?"

"I have been informed so." 

Liam nodded. "That leaves a toss up, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand."

"Twenty-five puts you just the right age. She could have been pregnant when I left."

Connor sat back. "You could be my father?"

"Very likely so."

"Tell me about her. About your time together."

* * *

* * *

He woke up laying on a cot covered in bear hide. The pelt was warm and soft, obviously treated and we'll maintained. The second thing he noticed was the searing agony of his back. 

"Be still." A soothing voice washed over him, a withered hand caressing his brow. "You are safe."

"Who are you?" He managed. 

"My name is Oiá:ner and I am the clanmother here."

"Clanmother?"

"Your ally, Achilles, brought you here and requested our aid. Your back has been broken, but we can fix it. We are fixing it."

"You- are?"

"Yes. The bear pelt you feel is a cushion for the back brace we have built for you."

"Oh. Good?"

"You are very lucky. Your ally cares for your safety very much."

He passed out not long after. 

He woke up again sometime in the night, a woman too young to be Oiá:ner staring down at him. She startled him hard lurking in the darkness and he jumped, wrenching his back. 

"Stupid." She hissed, quickly readjusting him. "Stupid man. Don't move!"

"Don't frighten me!"

"So easily scared?" She sneered. 

"Of people looming over me in bed? Yes!"

She paused, considering him for a minute. "That's a decent fear. I'll allow it."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Kaniehtí:io."

"Kaw- Kan-"

"Ziio."

"Ziio. Okay."

"The clanmother wants me to watch you."

"Alright?"

She reconsidered her words. Her pronunciation was so good he forgot briefly that it wasn't her native language. "I will be in charge of your care until you recover. A brutal punishment for us both."

He felt his stomach churn. "Pardon?"

"Sleep as much as you can. When you awake next, I'll have to feed you more tea."

"Huh?"

She stood abruptly and left. 

"Lord have mercy on my soul." He muttered to the ceiling. 

* * *

Punishment had been the opportune word for the months that followed. 

"I can't walk the length of the village." He panted, nearly ready to cry. 

"You can, and you will." She snapped back, harsh as always. 

He almost collapsed as she urged him forward. "If you hate me so much, just kill me. 

" I can't kill you. The clanmother would find me something even more unpleasant to deal with."

"Then toss me in a river and say I tripped."

"She would have me go find you."

He fell against the side of a longhouse, trying to stay upright and seriously struggling. "Ziio, please. I can't."

"Stay here and breathe, then, until you can continue."

"It hurts the entire time I'm standing. It won't get better if I just stop moving."

"The fact you feel as much pain standing as you did before you could stand means you are recovering."

"I can't recover if you kill me first."

"I will not kill you!" She snapped. 

He let himself gently go to the ground, laying himself out on his back. The relief was instant and blessed, though not as complete as he'd hoped. "You- oh. You don't give me any reason to believe otherwise."

She crouched next to him, grabbing his face so he had to stare at her. "If I did not like you, I would not be concerned with your recovery one way or another. Oiá:ner can threaten me as she likes, but this very assignment proves I am hard of hearing."

"What  _did_ you do?"

"No." She shushed him. "Later."

"Always later." He muttered. 

"You have to stand again."

"I can't, God dammit."

She smirked for the first time in his memory. "You're amongst savages. God doesn't walk here."

"So I am discovering."

"Stand."

"No."

"Stand, or I will stand you."

"I would like to see you try."

Kaniehtí:io succeeded and walked him the length of the village twice as recompense for his snark. His weight had dropped significantly both from inactivity, recovery and the lean diet of his caretakers. 

When she finally allowed him to collapse into bed that night, he was sure he'd never wished for death so much in his life. 

Instead of even attempting to move him from the cot the next day, she brought the chalk and blackboard of a child's school. 

"I want to teach you to speak with me."

"Aren't we?"

"No. I am speaking with you, but you cannot speak with me. To be equal in any measure, you must reach me."

"You want to teach me how to speak Mohawk?"

"Yes."

"I would love to."

His smile obviously put her off guard. She must have expected resistance. 

"Good." She handed him the blackboard and chalk. "We'll begin with my name."

* * *

A year after finding himself in Kaniehtí:to's care, he was able to walk, mostly unimpeded, on level ground. Uphill and downhill were still challenges, his balance still rather poor, but it was serious progress for an injury that by rights should have killed him. 

The downside was the huge hill on the edge of the village that overlooked it. She would go there when she was upset with him, wanted to punish him for some transgression. 

Today was one such day.

"Kaniehtí:io, please." He said, doing his best to follow her. She marched stubbornly on, past the spot she normally stopped at to go all the way up the small mountain. 

"Kaniehtí:io!"

She ignored him. 

He slowed down, clenching down on his teeth. He wouldn't catch her, but that didn't mean he was done. He spent the better part of the afternoon pushing uphill. She was sitting there, staring straight ahead with her arms crossed, still angry. 

"Kaniehtí:io."

She stood. "Don't ever tell me you're not capable ever again."

"That's what this is about?"

"Yes. Never be satisfied until you've accomplished when you set out to do. And what you're here for is to heal. You're not done. You're not crippled. You can, and I will make you if necessary."

Then, to his astonishment, she marched all the way back to the village without waiting to see if he followed. He lowered himself to the ground, watching her retreating form, aghast. 

"Whatever." He finally muttered to himself and laid down under the tree - an oak, he thought? - and concentrated on breathing. It was going to be a long night here, because there was no way he had the energy to make it back down the slope. He fell asleep in the autumn cool, exhausted and sore and more than willing to admit defeat to Kaniehtí:io's indomitable will.

He woke to the stream of sunlight and the chirps of birds, warm and comfortable. 

"You're stupid." Kaniehtí:io said, stroking over the hair that had grown out. He had been rolled onto a pelt, another laid over top of him. "You would freeze."

"Nah." He reached up, tangling his fingers in the end of her braid. "You're here."

She seemed almost taken aback, as much as a woman like her could be, then smiled. "Good. I'm glad you know."

"I do." He laid back down, letting the peace of the moment take them. 

* * *

* * *

Liam could barely contain himself when Connor offered to house him. 

"You're certain?"

"Of course. The house is too large for one person."

So, he'd decided to learn about his likely son and current landlord. So much of Kaniehtí:io and the Kanienkehá:ka were reflected in how Connor moved and acted. His attitudes, his views, his actions - he was the best representation his people could ask for. 

Liam, when he left, knew he would miss Kaniehtí:io. He would miss her harsh words, her soft touches and the way she lingered on him above everyone else. He would miss her love, and he would miss giving her his love. What he had underestimated his longing for was their culture, their cuisine, their lifestyle. France was all well and good, even in the bitterest turmoil, but his new life was everything he'd never known he wanted. 

"I have made food." Connor said, peering into the living room. The large man then seemed to stumble. "Well, my food. I do not know any Irish recipes."

"What did you make?"

"Corn soup with salted pork."

He was salivating. "I'd never thought I would miss food so much."

Connor smiled quietly to himself - his most major difference to his mother. She had never been still or quiet and these seemed to be things Connor exemplified. He was sweet and gentle and calm, like a jar of honey or molasses. Kaniehtí:io would have rolled her eyes and told him  _in that case, you don't deserve it_. 

In the three months he'd been here, he'd come to care for Connor a great deal. Not because he was his likely son, but because of the small ways he reflected his mother - arguably the love of his life. Connor was everything he would have ever asked for in a son, and an even better man. Kind, caring, sweet and generous, Connor did everything he could for anyone who asked him. The townspeople adored him, and he they. 

So, Liam had resolved to emulate Kaniehtí:io's son and befriend the wary townsfolk. 


End file.
